Worlds Collide
by Sir Fenith
Summary: A Pokémon trainer finds himself in reality. What will happen, and how will he get back to his own world? (Also contains characters from various fantasy and fiction books/games.) DEAD BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH IT


_**Chapter I – The Stage is Set**_

Paris, the massive capital of France, had never been in so dreadful a state.

Above, the greenish sky was filled with dark, stormy clouds, which evoked a sensation of horror to any innocent onlooker, while below, destitution prevailed ubiquitously: everything lay in complete ruins—one honestly could not tell where the Eiffel Tower had once stood; the plants and trees were dead; all the lakes, ponds—even the puddles—were like pools of acid. A putrid stench lingered, the origin of which was untraceable and unidentifiable, though the gruesome sight of lifeless bodies did suggest the cause. Save for the threatening echoing of thunder overhead, there was utter silence. There appeared to be no sign of life—real, _living_ life—anywhere in this nightmarish environment, this place of horrors, this taste of Hell.

Suddenly, there was a little movement. A ragged Frenchman in his mid-thirties silently emerged from the wreck of some indistinguishable structure. From the filthy, bloodstained insignia on his shabby army uniform and his leader-like mien, one could convey that he was a lieutenant. For several moments, he was motionless as he carefully surveyed his surroundings. Noticing no apparent danger, he gestured behind him as if to say, "The coast is clear; it's safe to come out," and a small band of four men, all unkempt and in the same condition as their commander, came into view. The torn attire they wear and the semi-automatic rifle each man clutched in his dirty hands suggest that every one of them is a soldier. As they soundlessly tramped behind the general in two disorganized lines, the grave expression on each man's face clearly revealed that no one anticipated the damage to be so great...or so devastating.

Finally, after what seemed like ages to the group, they arrived at their destination, a church; the same church wherein they had heard Mass the preceding Sunday. The only problem was that it did not look like a church. Honestly, it did not look like _anything_. The roof was for the most part missing, the walls blackened and broken. The great double doors were smashed in, as if someone had violently hurled a cannonball at them (which had probably actually happened); every window was shattered. To the weary soldiers, it was a very, _very_ depressing scene, and brought tears to the eyes of almost all of them.

As if on cue, the storm finally broke out, and the acid rain fell in torrents. The troops and their leader rushed into the dilapidated building. Although it was in ruins, it still served somewhat as a shelter. They first entered the chapel.

It was a mess; a complete, utter mess.

The first thing they noticed was the rainwater and blood that splattered the ground, making it slippery, and the broken bodies which littered it. There was a good-sized crater in the center, and the hole in the ceiling suggested that it was caused by a bomb dropped from above. Many of the pews were in pieces; the others lain flipped over, or up against what remained of the wall; it really seemed as if the Giant from "Jack and the Beanstalk" had turned the place into a house of horrors—or in this case, a church of horrors.

Finally, the men glanced at the altar. Several gasped in surprise. Miraculously, it was still in one piece!

"What the—" one man mumbled, blinking a few times to make sure it was real.

Another soldier dropped to his knees. "Oh...oh, Lord," he stuttered, hiding his face with his hands.

"There is someone here," another mumbled, snatching the attention of the others. He motioned to a crumpled black mound several feet from the altar. "The attire—"

"—is a priest's," the first interrupted.

"We must see if he is well," a fourth proposed, and the others, except the soldier kneeling, nodded and approached the man.

"Are you all right?" he asked, shaking the priest a little. The man groaned and slowly sat up, rubbing his head.

"I suppose," he replied, trying to avoid seeing the dreadful sight around him. "I am Reverend John Brown."

One soldier, obviously the head of the small division, shook his hand and helped him to his feet. "I'm Daniel Falworth." he said, and then rested his hand on the shoulder of the man beside him. "And this is my younger brother Ralph. The one over there with the scar over his eye is David Callahan, and next to him is Linus Beethoven. The man kneeling at the entrance is Lloyd Thompson. Father, do you know who bombed the city? I mean, we're not at war with anybody, so how could this have happened?"

The ecclesiastic shook his head mournfully. "Whoever did this was planning the attack for a long time...or so it seems."

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, look around you: not a living soul in this entire chapel save us."

David scratched his unshaven chin. "How'd ya survive, then?" he asked.

Father Brown shrugged. "Well, to be honest, I don't even know how I came to be here. The last thing I remember is falling asleep in my bed back home."

"Do you think there might be any survivors?" Ralph questioned.

"There very well might be—" the priest paused midsentence, as if listening.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"It is very faint, but I hear odd noises—like that of a rodent."

Everyone was silent for a moment. "It sounds like it's coming from underneath those pews," Ralph said at last, pointing to a pile of broken pews.

"Okay, let's go." Daniel said, taking the lead. They carefully moved them.

"It is a boy of approximately fifteen years, it looks like," Linus noted. "He has on a black baseball cap with a red and white ball on the front and—ahhh!" A strange, rabbit-like creature appeared abruptly. Everyone jumped back as it glanced around and at them, then hid its face in terror and started to...cry?

"That creature is unlike anything I have ever seen," Father Brown said, keeping his distance like the others. "It looks like a rabbit, but stands on two legs. What are it and the boy doing in a place like this?"

"The kid's wakin' up!" David said suddenly. The creature stopped crying, and glimpsed at the teen.

"Wh-where am I?" he mumbled, sitting up. The bunny lunged at him and embraced him. He hugged it back. "Hey, Buneary. Are you OK?"

The Buneary nodded gleefully.

Everyone stared at the two. "I must be losing my mind," Linus mumbled. "Is that really a Pokémon? Right in front of me?"

The kid looked up, a tad bit surprised. "Oh, hello there," he greeted them, and jumped to his feet, still holding the Buneary. "I'm Fenith, and this is my Buneary. She's a Buneary."

"Obviously," David mumbled.

Fenith ignored that remark and asked, "Who are you?"

After everyone introduced themselves, Daniel mumbled to Ralph, "He's not the least bit fazed by the sight around him or the fact that we have guns. And loaded guns, at that."

Ralph shrugged. "His temperament, I suppose."

"How'd a kid like you survive all the bombing?" David enquired.

Fenith gave them a confused look. "I don't know what—"

"FENITH, WHERE ARE YOU!?"

The soldiers and priest became tense and stared at one another, and Lloyd jumped to his feet on full alert. "What the heck was that?" he asked loudly to nobody in particular.

"That," Fenith replied, looking rather embarrassed, "was probably my friend, Elizabeth. I wonder where she is." He paused for a second before adding, "I wonder where _I _am."

"You're in Paris," Daniel answered promptly.

Fenith's eyes widened. "Cool! I've never heard of that city before. Which region are we in?"

"Umm...France?"

"France... Wow, and I thought Hoenn had a funny name. Paris almost sounds Kalosian, though. You sure we're not actually in the Kalos Region?"

Daniel was quiet for a moment. "...Yes, I'm sure."

"Fenith! Where are you...?" Elizabeth yelled anxiously from somewhere in the church.

Fenith shouldered his pack, holding Buneary snugly in his arms. "I've got to get going. See ya!" He sprinted out of the chapel.

Daniel shook his head. "That boy doesn't know what he's walking—"

"Sprinting," Ralph corrected.

Daniel glared at him, then sighed. "That boy doesn't know what he's _sprinting_ into."

* * *

**Words:** 1,391

**Published: **Jan. 2, 2020


End file.
